by Cindy Nord
Her body swung free, but the current tore her from his clasp. Desperate to catch her, Jackson scuffled sideways, slapping and flaying the water. He slipped, banging his hip against the rock. Lunging once more, he snagged the rope—pulled her from the undertow and up against his chest.
“I’m here, Cal,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. His lips grazed her icy face. Please, God, she can’t be dead. Not now. Not when I’ve finally found her.
His hold tightened.
And Callie stirred.
He stared down into her pale face. Had he imagined her movement? Rain drummed against his hat and shoulders as the seconds ticked away in agonizing torment. The wind drove deep the truth: Nobody had a command over his emotions like this woman. Nobody.
Stay with me, hellion.
Ever so slightly, she moved again. Hope shot through Jackson’s veins. With his sharp exhale, sanity returned. He had to get her out of this mess. Now. He yanked on his rope, sending an order up the incline to Salvaje.
“Pull,” he bellowed. “Pull.” Callie’s groan met his ear when he shifted her into a more secure position across his shoulder.
More shale gave way beneath his feet. Why wasn’t the horse moving? Jackson sidestepped, and fell sideways against the boulder. Using his foot as leverage he pushed off the rock, jerking harder on the tether. “Move, Salvaje!”
This time, the horse responded. Jackson lurched upward, fighting to stay erect. Thigh muscles tightened beneath each step and seconds passed in wretched agony. Hip joints strained against the climb. Cautiously, he planted each foot.
Jackson clenched his teeth to stop his body from shivering, to stop the cold dread from seeping into his bones.
At last he crested the edge and toppled over the stony lip, dragging Callie with him. She fell onto her back with a shallow groan, her arms splayed wide.
Gasping for breath, he rolled to his side and faced her. He smoothed the wet strands of hair off her face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you sooner.” She struggled to lift an arm as another moan slipped past her trembling lips. “No, no…lie still,” he whispered. “Let me untie the ropes first.”
He undid the knot around her waist, then climbed to his feet. Looping his arms under her shoulders, he pulled her farther from the edge.
His lips brushed the curve of her ear. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get the horses.”
Pent-up energy weakened him as he coiled the ropes, stowing them on the saddles before tightening the cinches. Ribs ached from the drubbing force of his heartbeat. He focused on his words to corral his frayed emotions. “Good boy, Salvaje. Good, Diego. You helped save her.”
Callie’s will to live ran strong. And now, he might just have a shot at the happiness he hadn’t even known he’d wanted until he’d almost lost her. Of course, convincing her to feel the same way about him might prove to be a different set of challenges. But he’d worry about all that later. Jackson bit back a snort, knotted Diego’s reins through a ring on his saddle, then led Salvaje back to his partner.
She would ride with him. Any hope of getting back to the ranch tonight had vanished. The abandoned shack would have to do.
He gathered Callie into his arms and then hoisted himself into the saddle. The McClellan creaked as he settled into place. His lips pressed against her clammy forehead.
I came so close to losing you. If he didn’t warm her soon, he still might.
Callie trembled against him. He drew her closer, his chest constricting. His devotion to her had been growing for months—he just hadn’t realized how much. He imagined her fear as she’d dangled in the water, imagined her losing hope as she waited, imagined her believing no one knew of her fate. She issued another shallow groan and turned her face toward him, nestling closer. Long hanks of hair had escaped her braid and lay in a wet tangle across his arm. Wisps clung to her cheek. Jackson resisted the urge to brush his lips against hers. Instead he set spurs, and Salvaje took off in a hard canter toward the cabin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cradling Callie in his arms, Jackson heaved a shoulder against the cabin door. The wooden barrier flew open and smacked the wall with a bang. He carried his shivering bundle inside and headed toward the solitary bed set against the back wall, floorboards creaking with each step he took.
To avoid soaking the mattress with her wet clothes, Jackson nestled Callie on the floor near the iron headboard. After pulling the threadbare coverlet from the bed, he draped it over her, then spun on his boot heel and headed back outside.
With an economy of motion he hadn’t used since the war, he tethered the horses inside the shack’s attached lean-to, then stripped them of their saddles and tack, placing the equipment on nearby pegs. A moment later, he snatched up his saddlebags and bedroll and then headed back to the cabin at the double-quick.
Slamming the door behind him, Jackson closed out the stormy night. At the fireplace, he dropped the gear and sank to a knee upon the hearth. He scooped a handful of wood shavings from the kindling box and tossed them onto the grate. Leather scraped across uneven pine as he pulled his saddlebags closer. One hand lifted the flap, the other rummaged inside until his fingers closed around a tin of lucifers. He struck the match and welcoming light nipped the darkness. The stench of sulfur wafted upward, and a moment later, a fire crackled into life.
Jackson stood and fed several logs to the flames, then turned and shucked his hat, gloves and poncho, tossing them onto the table. He scanned the room. In one corner, cobwebs hung in gossamer drapes from the rafters, but the roof was sound, the walls and floor dry.
Heat permeated the cabin and stirred the silken webs into an eerie dance. Scooping up the bedroll, Jackson retraced his steps to Callie.
An amber glow embraced the tight ball into which she’d curled and her braid lay like a sodden snake over one shoulder. Caught between her teeth, her bottom lip trembled.
Jackson lowered to a knee beside her and untied the leather strap on his gum blanket. The rubberized canvas bedroll unfurled across the floor, brass grommets embedded in the corners catching the firelight. He lifted free a blanket and shook open the wool. A stale scent of past campfires met his nostrils as the letters U.S., embroidered on the far corner, flashed and then disappeared into the woolen folds.
Another blanket followed, devoid of insignia. Jackson dropped both beside Callie’s huddled form, then leaned over and touched her shoulder. “We need to get you out of your wet clothes.”
She didn’t reply. He didn’t expect her to. Exhaustion had taken its toll. Jackson glanced at her shirtfront and sucked in a quick breath. Rain had soaked the thin material. She wore no undergarments. Her curves held him spellbound, but this was not the time to marvel. He swallowed, wetting a mouth suddenly gone dry, and tamped down a desire that rose unbidden.
After ridding her of boots and socks, he raised her from the floor and pulled her against him. A low groan fell from her lips.
Working quickly, Jackson fumbled his stiff fingers over the tin buttons running down the front of her torn shirt. As he pushed the wet cambric off her shoulders, his breath lodged deep in his throat. Flawless perfection drove a spike of heat straight into his loins.
Soft light glistened across honey-hued breasts, illuminating dusky aureole and nipples puckered from the cold. His gaze lingered a trifle longer, then rose to the hollow of her throat. The pulse nestled there matched the unrequited throb in his groin. Jackson pulled in another lungful of air, clamping his lips tight. How many months had it been since he’d touched a woman? Too damn many. He gritted his teeth and refocused on the task at hand.
Carefully, he lifted Callie and placed her on the bed. The dark fan of her lashes fluttered, yet her eyes remained closed. She hurt from her horrific ordeal, but he now ached for a far different reason.
Jackson spread the cavalry blanket over her. After slipping his hands under the wool
, he unfastened the buttons of her denims, then stripped away the wet britches and tossed them over a rickety chair in the shadows.
Callie lay naked beneath the coverlet. Jackson eased out a lengthy sigh, trying to calm his pounding heart. Muscles knotted with tension as he leaned over and jammed the edges of the blanket beneath her to form a cocoon.
The action both frustrated and offered satisfaction, knowing he’d created a sufficient barrier between his partner and his nerve-wracking need.
He mustered his thoughts under control and draped the second blanket over her before turning his attention to his own soggy clothes.
Lowering to the floor several feet from Callie’s tempting form, Jackson pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. His wet socks joined the pile of garments.
With arm muscles bunching, he climbed to his feet and peeled off his shirt and pants, leaving on his cotton under drawers.
Jackson fed several more logs to the fire, then stared into the flames, the radiating heat warming his bare chest. A cynical chuckle followed. Alone in a remote cabin with a naked woman—the old Jackson would’ve found the situation enticing. But the old Jackson had never been in love.
His lips ground together.
Callie captured him in ways no other woman ever had, and his concern for her far outweighed his own selfish needs. The fragility she’d tried to hide behind her fearless façade now lay exposed before him.
He flexed his hands, turning his palms upward. A splotchy line of dried blood marked the cuts made by the ropes. His fingers shook, not from the superficial wounds, but from the thought of nearly losing Callie.
Jackson jammed his hands into his hair, tunneling his fingers through the damp hanks that waved to his shoulders. Shoving the length off his face, he glanced back at her.
His breath caught in his throat.
From under soft brows, Callie stared at him, her eyes opened wide enough to catch the fire’s glow. Rain pounded the roof in a steady rhythm as their gazes held. Desire shimmered in the mesmerizing blue of her eyes.
Jackson’s body hardened, pulsing in hungry reply. Air gusted from his lungs and his gaze slid away, only to return to hers. He’d seen that look before, reflected in the eyes of a multitude of past lovers…women who wanted him, women who plotted for more, women who’d mattered little beyond mere physical satisfaction. But Callie wasn’t one of those sultry temptresses. She was an uncontrollable innocent.
Untamed and unmatched.
His stare dropped to her lips, and his own pursed tightly. He wanted another taste of her, craved the length of her body against his. Tension raked through him. Unbeknownst to her, she now held all the power.
Jackson exerted every ounce of control he possessed to keep from responding. He probably imagined the beckoning glint, anyway—a trick of his own desires amidst the vacillating, gold-limned shadows. Instead, his words snaked out in a raw, guttural whisper, “You’re safe now, hellion.”
The light in Callie’s eyes dimmed, a slight nod moving her head a fraction of an inch.
And yet, her cheeks flushed when he stepped closer.
Jackson steadied his breath and cleared his throat, choosing his next words with care. “I’m going to lie down beside you and hold you so you’ll warm up faster. Don’t be afraid.”
Another nod. This time her eyes held no captivating shimmer, only exhaustion and acceptance and relief.
He skimmed the blankets, his mind swirling in a conflicted whirlpool of need. Jeezus, how could he simply hold her when he wanted so much more?
Then Callie’s eyes drifted closed and she shivered, sending the gray wool into a rippling eddy.
In a heartbeat his foolishness vanished, and he stripped from his damp under drawers. The bed creaked as he climbed in beside her, pulling the second blanket over them both. He rolled her onto her side facing away from him, and then slipped his arm around her waist. His biceps flexed as he pulled her closer, spooning her into his warmth.
Her raspy breathing knotted his heartstrings. His own became a muffled groan that washed past parted lips. She felt so small, so tiny in his arms—for once, so helpless.
Does she feel my heartbeat?
He felt hers. His hand splayed across her belly, fingers flexing against the suppleness he found there. For months, his struggles with her had equaled breaking his wild stallion. She’d fought hard against his ropes. But he’d uncovered her secrets anyway—the orphanage, her loneliness and fear. She’d gifted him Salvaje, yet still they fought: she, with her jealousy over Miss Talmadge, he, with a heart still in denial. Their volatile kisses had lit a simmering fuse. She’d played dress-up to prove her control of him, and failed miserably in the attempt.
All those moments—and a million more—somehow had melded them, transforming his recalcitrant little mustang into a glorious Pegasus who now soared magnificently through his veins.
Wisps of drying blonde curls feathered against his face, and his buttocks tightened in response. Callie moaned, settling closer. His stomach clenched. He breathed in her scent and tightened his arm around her.
She slid closer still, tucking herself into him.
Jackson’s entire body corded with need.
He forced his eyes closed, forced himself to focus on the rain drumming against the roof, on the fire’s crackling hiss, on the long, rolling echo of faraway thunder—on anything besides the desire blazing a path to his loins.
A sharp clap of thunder penetrated Callie’s dream, dashing the sunbeams that danced through the velvety-red roses. She fought to hold on to the image, but consciousness beckoned…and won.
Callie opened her eyes. Wavering light spilled over a hodgepodge of clothing draped across a rickety chair and table.
This isn’t Mother’s garden in St. Louis.
She blinked twice, pushing aside the vision, then scanned past the denim and cambric and wool. Weak flames flickered inside a stone fireplace, and wispy curlicues of smoke disappeared up the chimney.
The vaquero’s shack?
Everything crashed into recall…Diego’s panic, the rising water, Jackson’s strong, reassuring voice filtering past her despair. The fires of awareness burned inside her. Heaviness around her waist pulled Callie back to the moment. She glanced down and identified the weight.
A man’s arm.
Her gaze lanced to the garments again and her breath seized in her chest. She stared at the collection of dark colors. Her shirt. Her denims. Another pair of pants, larger—a man’s. And another shirt. Which meant…
Callie swallowed and squeezed her eyes for a moment, fighting back the panic that bubbled into her throat. She didn’t need anyone to blaze her a trail to the explanation.
Jackson.
She lay naked beside the man who’d stripped her and whose arm now encircled her waist. The quivering inside her grew and she waited, expecting some kind of churning indignation in her chest to heat her blood. Instead, riotous warmth coursed through her veins, pounding against her temples.
Callie closed her eyes again and allowed the truth to intensify. Life was fleeting and could be snuffed out in the flicker of an instant. Yet, miraculously she’d been given another chance. If not for Jackson’s rescue, she would never know another thunderstorm or another sunny day. If not for his courage, his strength, she might never see another roundup or drive another herd of horses to Tucson.
The palpitations deepened, but not from fear. No matter how hard she tried to dismiss the facts or tamp them down, behind every exciting quiver fluttered the unrelenting wings of hope.
Frightening, elusive and exhilarating.
A kaleidoscope of memories rolled through her. The night she’d met Jackson, challenging her even as he pinned her to the ground. The day he broke the stallion in the corral, his raw masculinity astonishing her far more than even Salvaje’s surrender. The weeks he’d commanded the militia, r
espected by so many of her neighbors and friends.
Every time she turned around, there Jackson stood, just as defiant and challenging as the magnificent stallion he now rode. He broke down every damn wall she’d ever erected. And the more she tested Jackson, the more determined he became, proving time and again his allegiance to their partnership.
Time and again his allegiance to her.
Heat swept Callie’s face and neck and then skidded down her back, tingling every nerve-ending where his body met hers.
She bit her lower lip and pushed back the groan welling in her throat. She’d spent years denying her needs, crushing any tendrils of tenderness beneath her boot heels, thwarting trust in anyone or anything as she lost herself beneath her cloak of sadness and invincibility.
Why had she tried so hard to control this stalwart man? Her ragged sigh rose into the room. Jackson was right. She had propped her parents’ deaths around her like a shield, holding the world at bay…until she found herself dangling at the end of a long rope, sobbing for her partner to save her.
But Jackson had saved her long before tonight.
Thunder echoed again in the distance, but the violence of the storm had ebbed into steady raindrops on the roof. Callie rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Firelight gamboled across the rusty metal, drawing her gaze to the tousled cobwebs near the corner. Time had frayed the flimsy strands, just as life’s ungodly journey had frayed her. Since Jackson’s arrival, all her habits and beliefs had deteriorated, until finally, like the cobwebs clinging to the weathered rafters, the misconceptions that had shaped her clung by fragile threads.
Tension drifted from taut muscles as the remaining remnants of defiance faded from Callie’s heart. She yearned for a new beginning filled with happiness. But more than anything, she wanted to share this breakthrough with the man who had saved her life.